


Peace Comes Dropping Slow

by Artifactrix



Category: God Eaters - Jesse Hajicek
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5470265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifactrix/pseuds/Artifactrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieran and Ash finally get to go for that swim, but adjusting to peace and quiet is easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace Comes Dropping Slow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yrindor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yrindor/gifts).



> Dear Yrindor,
> 
> Happy Yuletide! I hope you enjoy this little coda. After all that peril, I think some skinny-dipping is in order. :)
> 
> Title is from Yeats' "Lake Isle of Innisfree," because peaceful lakes? I am not good at poetry, or titles.

They do eventually sleep. The blankets aren't exactly soft, and they're not exactly comfortable, but they've been running on magic for far too long, and as they lie curled together by the fire, their neglected bodies eventually notice that they're stationary, and horizontal, and warm, and fed, and they're suddenly not just fatigued but swamped by exhaustion. Curled together as they are, it's impossible to say who starts dropping off first, but too-busy minds slow and fog and aching limbs go heavy and lax, and surrendering consciousness is like slipping under the surface of warm, still water, the relaxation of overtaxed bodies as much a relief as buoyancy. Kieran manages to kick his boots off, just, before he goes under; Ash doesn't bother trying, just curls tighter into Kieran's side and drags a blanket haphazardly over both of them.

 

They wake, slowly, achingly, at dusk. _Which_ dusk is anyone's guess; neither can say how much time they might have lost, only that they are hungry, and thirsty, and fairly desperate to piss. Their nest of blankets is mostly shaded by the walls and the remnant of roof, but the stones are warm with the heat of the day and they've sweated badly into their clothes in the heat, and when Ash shrugs the blanket back and rolls away, dry air on damp fabric and overwarm flesh makes them patchily cold. Chaiel's fire is long dead, burnt away to cold cinders and white ash, so Kieran lays the beginnings of another, a handful of greasewood twigs and grass and some split pieces of kindling from the pile that Chaiel left for them. There are no matches to be found, though, and Kieran blinks the crusts out of his eyes and thinks muzzily, irritably of flint, or maybe a firedrill, then laughs aloud at himself and lights it with the barest nudge of power.

 

“It's going to take some getting used to, this magic business,” he says, when Ash raises his eyebrows. “Two, three weeks ago, I was just some punk with a half-reliable death Talent and a gun.” He grins. “And look at me now.”

 

“Look at you,” Ash agrees, a warm, sly twist in his voice that's half-teasing and half... something, like awe except without intimidation. Wonder, maybe. Whatever it is, Ash smiles at him for a long moment before turning away to do something with the provisions, and something warm and complex glows in Kieran's chest, love and pride and a dozen other things he's not quite sure how to name, and he takes a moment to puzzle over it before shaking his head and turning back to the fire.

 

There's not much left of Chaiel's stew, but it's enough to take the edge off, so when the fire is burning well, Kieran puts the pot on to warm. Ash peruses their supplies, going about it in too orderly a manner to be called rummaging, making occasional pleased noises when he finds things. By the time the stew is bubbling around the edges, Ash has some kind of batter mixed up, and he's waiting, semi-patiently, for his turn with the fire, skillet in hand, and they eat right from the pot, hasty with hunger, while Ash fries cornmeal cakes and slivers of salt pork, juggling his spoon and the knife he's using to turn them.

 

“This is a good skillet,” Ash says, spearing the first few cakes and dropping them into Kieran's bowl, heedless of the traces of stew in the bottom of it. “Well-seasoned. Not new. He must've stolen it from somewhere.”

 

“Could've been anywhere, what with his walking-through-the-air trick. I doubt anyone'll come looking for it here,” Kieran says, and takes a too-hot bite of corncake. He breathes to cool it, chews and swallows. “These are good.”

 

Ash smiles and ducks his head, then shrugs. “I'm not worried about that. I was more wondering where he might have gotten this stuff. We're going to need to resupply sometime.” He looks around, taking in the heaps and piles. “Not soon, I'll grant you, but eventually.”

 

“Can't have been close,” Kieran says, trying to map out the area in his mind. The area around the edges of what was the Burn is mostly wilderness, maybe the occasional mining camp on the very fringes. Upstream of the lake is a mystery to him; he can't even fill it in from actual maps he's seen. Foothills, then mountains, then Prandhar. Downstream, he's on firmer ground.

 

“Our best bet is probably to head downriver, toward the city,” he suggests, finally. “Water and people to hide our tracks. If we can get into the city, that's even better: small town, everybody notices everything. Big city, most people don't _want_ to notice anything, they're all just trying to get along. We step into town and borrow a few things, nobody's going to notice one or two extra thefts; Burn River's crawling with thieves.” He grins. “You'd be surprised how long I was able to kick around Burn River with a price on my head, not even hiding.”

 

“Huh,” Ash says, mouth full. “Well,” he says, around his mouthful of corncake, “We' 'eah 'ow – ” He stops, swallows, takes a swig of water to clear his throat. “Ahem. We're here now, and it looks like we're supplied for two months or more, so we can cross that bridge when we come to it. For the moment, well...” He smiles at Kieran, and Kieran can't help smiling back. “I believe I was promised a swim.”

 

***

 

They walk down to the water in the gathering dusk, through narrow, sand-choked streets shadowed dark by the walls around them. When they emerge onto the cracked flagstones of the wide waterfront road, the sun is behind the mountains at their backs, and the lake is like a mirror, throwing back the last of the sunset. Ash's breath catches, not quite a gasp; Kieran hasn't ever been the type to gape at beauty, but he can't help stopping to just _look_ , because it's stunning.

 

“You were right,” Ash says, oddly hushed. “This is better.”

 

“Water should be warm,” Kieran offers, because that odd note is back in Ash's voice, the wonder, and he doesn't know what to say to it. He hesitates, then offers Ash his hand, and they stand there for a long moment, minutes, with fingers twined, feeling each other's presence and watching the colors shift on the water as the sun slips lower.

 

“Come on,” Ash says at last, and Kieran would swear he can _feel_ his smile, happiness like the gentle heat of a banked fire. “Swimming.”

 

“Swimming,” Kieran agrees, and they pick their way down a staircase that dissolves into a ramp of tumbled rocks halfway down. Ash stops to take his boots off, and they pad barefoot over the sand to the water. Shedding their filthy clothing is a relief on its own, and wading into shallow water nearly blood-warm from the heat of the day is a pleasure so acute Kieran can't help but groan low in his throat, more noise than he usually makes _coming_ , it's so good. Beside him, Ash _sighs_ and drops to his knees, not bothering to wade deeper, just collapsing in the shallows so he can wallow. Kieran makes it another few steps, wading in up to his waist before he dives forward, letting the water take his weight. It's a wonderful relief for his aching body, and he ducks under the surface and strokes, letting his snarled hair spread and stream behind him as he glides through the water.

 

When he surfaces, he looks for Ash, and for one horrible moment he can't find him at all, not with his eyes or his Talent senses or with the compass charm that he reaches for, unthinking, because it already feels as organic and natural as taste, as touch. He's not wearing it, it's on the shore with his clothes, and having that line of contact missing is like being blinded, deafened, numbed. He reaches for the power, the pattern, and all he can feel is the air, thin and capricious, and the water, dense and impenetrable, and the sand and stone of the shore, all of it dead and empty, empty, empty, no trace of Ash anywhere and not a single living thing besides himself, and the aloneness, the _alienness_ of it is terrifying. God, he used to think he _liked_ being alone in the wilderness, he never realized before how he could feel life around him, or maybe he never could, but now he can and the absence is awful, a yawning void that makes his skin crawl.

 

Then Ash surfaces beside him, a few feet away, blooming up in all Kieran's senses at once like fire, like a rose, and the relief is so profound that Kieran doesn't even see the sly look on Ash's face before the first splash takes him full in the face. He flounders, spluttering, and Ash's laughter rings out across the water, the only living sound for miles besides Kieran's undignified yelp, and Kieran can't even be annoyed, just surges forward to catch him. Ash wriggles for a moment, but Kieran just holds on, and he feels Ash still as he senses what's in Kieran's mind.

 

 _I came up for air, and I couldn't find you_ , Kieran says, feet planted, arms not quite too tight around Ash's ribs, face tucked against the side of Ash's neck. He inhales the warm, living, animal smell of Ash's body, and feels the fear receding a little more with each breath.

 

 _I'm here, I'm here,_ Ash tells him. _I won't go._ Kieran can feel Ash feeling him, knows down to his bones that Ash understands, and they stand like that for a long moment, drying skin cool in the night air, hair sticking to their shoulders, holding and being held, and Kieran feels the sense of aloneness gradually ease and disappear, evaporating away like water, leaving him with a warm, naked Ash in his arms and a score to settle. Ash catches the shift in Kieran's mood, senses his intention, and he twists again in Kieran's arms a bare moment before Kieran grins and ducks them both.

 

 _That'll teach you to splash me,_ Kieran tells him, and releases him to thrash his way back to the surface. They both come up flailing, sending arcs of water every which way, whooping with laughter and spluttering when it gets in their faces. It helps that they can find each other blind – saves time and bother not having to wipe the water out of their eyes – and they're drenched and aching with laughter and more or less at a stalemate when Kieran pauses to get a good fix on Ash's position, ducks underwater, and kicks off, launching himself hands-first at where Ash ought to be. Ash tries to sidestep, but Kieran catches him all right, getting an arm around his waist and dragging him off his feet, and he manages to get both Ash's arms pinned before he can stand up again.

 

“All right, all right, I give,” Ash yelps, twisting ineffectually, and Kieran tightens his arms around him, drawing him close, pressing their bodies together. Ash stills, then shifts against him, and Kieran lowers his head to scrape teeth down the side of Ash's neck, below his ear. Ash shivers, and Kieran shivers with him, and eases his grip to let his hands slide slowly down Ash's body.

 

“I give,” Ash says again, in a very different voice, and Kieran huffs a laugh.

 

“Oh, I'll bet you do,” he says, and turns Ash around so he can kiss him.

 

***

 

“Pruney enough for you?” Kieran asks, when they finally make it back to shore, dripping and exhausted and utterly happy.

 

“ _Yes,_ ” Ash says, gathering up his clothes. “I'm not putting these back on,” he says, holding them at arm's length. “This is the cleanest I've been in days.” Kieran laughs.

 

“Gonna do laundry?” he asks, and Ash shakes his head.

 

“Not tonight. Shy brought us some stuff, and unless he found it in an actual pigsty, it's gotta be cleaner than this.”

 

The walk back up to their campsite feels longer and more arduous than it should. The moonlight silvers the stones and broken walls throw sharp black shadows in the twisting streets, and if they couldn't feel their way through the dark on pattern and Talent-sense, they'd be lost a dozen times over and probably end up shivering in an alleyway, defeated by exhaustion. As it is, they still stumble over broken stones and make wrong turnings, and by the time they find their way back they're cold and tired and footsore.

 

“How can I be this tired?” Ash asks, sprawling naked on the bedroll as Kieran stokes the fire. “We slept for an _age._ ”

 

“Running on magic must've been harder on our bodies than it felt,” Kieran guesses, remembering Ka'an's dash to the Burn, the feeling of paralyzing exhaustion he felt when Ka'an withdrew his power and gave him an hour's rest. “We must have been pretty near to collapsing when we got here, power or no power.” Ash shivers, and sits up, wrapping himself in a blanket. He's moving slowly, carefully, like every bone in his body suddenly aches. Kieran knows the feeling.

 

“Ugh, I want to sleep for a _year_ ,” Ash says. “And eat an entire ox. Possibly two.”

 

“Well, the oxen are a problem, but sleeping isn't. C'mon, Ashes, rest easy. All we have to do for now is do nothing. Makes a nice change, huh?”

 

“I don't think I know how to do nothing anymore,” Ash grumbles, and Kieran rolls his eyes.

 

“I don't either, but we're smart. We can figure it out. I think I'm going to start by banking the fire and setting some beans to cook overnight, and tomorrow we can eat them, and then maybe lie in the sun and gather some power, maybe look at the weather – I'll show you how storms get born, you'll like that, it's like you can see how the whole world fits together, like a machine. And after that, I dunno, we'll think of something fun, absolutely no killing or dying or running for our lives, and no worrying.”

 

Ash draws his knees up and wraps his arms and the blanketaround them, cocooning himself more snugly. His head falls forward, not quite resting on his legs, and his hair hangs in damp tendrils, half-hiding his face.

 

“We're going to have to make a real plan eventually,” he says, a little muffled, and Kieran sets down the firewood and goes to sit beside him, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

 

“We are. And it's gonna be a _good_ plan, with all kinds of important details in it, like how we're going to keep this place safe from explorers now that it's not the Burn anymore, and where we're going to get more food, and how to get things to grow here again, and maybe even how we're going to start all kinds of trouble for the Commonwealth. But tonight, and tomorrow, and until we can go swimming and walk up a hill without collapsing in a heap, we're going to _rest_ , and not go looking for trouble.”

 

“And what if trouble comes looking for us?” Ash asks, and Kieran can feel his weariness, his resignation. He catches the ghost of a nightmare, sharp in Ash's memory: the cold, sick shock as white-coated Watchmen appear out of nowhere and the despair of inevitable defeat. It's strange, feeling that despair, even secondhand – Kieran hasn't had time for despair in years, learned a long time ago how to burn through it, wouldn't still be kicking if he hadn't, and he tries to show Ash some of the bloody-minded, teeth-gritting cussedness that's saved him.

 

“If trouble finds us, then we'll kick its ass, Ashes,” Kieran says, and means it down to the ground because he has to, wrapping himself in the same conviction he carries into a fight, the belief that he can win, because believing otherwise is worse than useless. He thinks back to how he felt riding the train into Churchrock, power thrumming through his veins: boundless, bulletproof, coiled and ready. “They don't even have words for what we are, what we can do. If we weren't such filthy degenerates, they'd put us in charge. We'll be _fine_.”

 

Ash shakes his head slowly, shoulders shifting under Kieran's arm.

 

“I wish I could believe that,” he says, but he already does, just a little – Kieran can feel it, growing like a seed, putting out little shoots and tendrils of hope.

 

“Then I guess we'll just have to prove it, one day at a time,” Kieran says, and imagines it, a parade of happy days and nights stretching off into the future. “You're the genius; let's make it an experiment.” Ash leans into his side, and there's a warmth under Kieran's breastbone, a complicated tangle of emotions that's not wholly his, and not wholly Ash's either.

 

“I'd like that, Kai,” Ash whispers. “Let's do that.”

 


End file.
